


Of Death's Touch

by HunnyDreams42



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Also R Plus A Equals J, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Cheating, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Includes photo collage, It's all for the fun of writing, Jealousy, Memory Loss, R Plus L Equals J, Time Skips, Timeline is a little messed up as well, just forewarning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21338410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunnyDreams42/pseuds/HunnyDreams42
Summary: Arya kills the Night King during The Long Night, before driving her gifted dagger through his stomach, he grabbed her arm, burning her with his cold touch. Arya doesn't know what it means to be touched by death but waking up in a tournament that should have stayed long buried within history's walls and encountering a beautiful silver-haired Prince, she's about to find out.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon Snow & Arya Stark, Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 32
Kudos: 106





	1. A Frozen Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone 🙂
> 
> To start off I want to say that I have always wanted a Arya/Rhaegar fanfiction but there hasn't ever been a concrete one in the fandom, I've seen little teases of them and hints of them here and there and also nowhere lol so I decided to stop waiting for someone else to make one and just take it upon myself and make my own. It's kind of amazing to me that more people haven't seen the potential in this relationship considering all the similarity's between Arya and Lyanna.
> 
> I feel I should mention that I am a huge Arya/Jon fan, so my bias does somewhat leak into this story. You can find it in the way Arya thinks about Jon and her comparisons to some things, I added the tag of them just to cover my bases but nothing ever actually happens with them.
> 
> Just a forewarning, Lyanna's timeline is a little mixed up and muddled, some stuff might not match the actual time line in the books and/or the show. Also I'm not done writing the whole thing yet so some of the characters mentioned in the tags might just be thoughts or mentions in the story but they don't actually have appearances or speaking roles. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun getting this story started and I’m looking forward to writing the rest of it and I hope everyone will love reading it, please just keep in mind not to take it so seriously, it's just fanfiction (I mean this in the most positive way, I love fanfiction), there's no need to come for my head if you don't like what I've wrote, please keep any comments kind and respectful, that would be much appreciated.
> 
> Sorry for the long notes...
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy 😄

* * *

Her arm is cold to the bone where the Night King grazed his blue fingers before she killed him. Her grip on the dagger she used to stab him with, the one Bran gifted her not that long ago, loosens and the pretty weapon falls to the floor, no sound is made where it buries into the soft snow beneath her feet. The veins under her skin are like ice, she's scared to move her arm in fear that it'll shatter like glass. She wants to carefully cradle it to her chest but she leaves it hanging limply by her side.

From the corner of her eye, through the debris that falls from skies above, she sees Jon. He's running toward her but he stops when he sees her, motionless and still in shock over what she just managed to accomplish. The Long Night turned out to not be so long after all.

Bran is behind her, he's looking at her arm with knowing eyes but he doesn't say anything, for that she's grateful. She should be asking him if she's okay, if her arm will freeze off, if she'll die because she made the mistake of not moving fast enough to avoid The Night King's frozen touch. But she doesn't, she can't even say why she doesn't, the questions are there on her tongue, ready to be asked but her mouth doesn't move and no sounds come out.

Jon gets ahold of himself, snapping out of his self induced shock and rushes to her, he's asking questions, his mouth is working for him unlike hers. Bran answers his questions with the monotone voice he seemed to pick up after becoming the three-eyed raven. Arya tries not to worry so much about what it means to be touched by death, she's almost positive that if something was wrong Bran would tell her and he doesn't look concerned so she tries not to be concerned about it to, but the sharp chill in her arm is bitter and distracting.

“I'm fine Jon,” her voice finally breaks through her throat, Jon is worst than a mother hen looking over her baby chick, he's convinced that she's not okay but with help from Bran she's able to escape his words of concern. Arya's not going to mention the unfortunate incident, not to Jon (not to anyone), it's the last thing that needs to be on her brother's mind. Plus it's likely if she says something, they'll lock her away in the infirmary to be looked over by a Maester and that's not what she needs right now. What she needs is to be warm, the cold is spreading, thinning her blood and turning her already pale skin lighter.

The wind around them blows with a fierce chill, a beast larger then some castles lands next to them to let off it's rider before taking off into the darkness, it's black scales blend and hide it within the smoke. The Dragon Queen that Jon has been infatuated with is striding toward them with an air of confidence that Arya thinks is unwarranted. She doesn't care much for the Dragon Queen and truthfully she doesn't understand Jon's fascination with her either, she's very pretty Arya will admit that but there is madness in her eyes. She's walking wildfire waiting to be set off so she can destroy everything in her path, and Arya doesn't want Jon to get burned for being to close.

“Sister, perhaps you should go get cleaned up and get some rest,” Bran suggests to her, in another life where Arya wasn't so foolish in battle she would have argued, saying she needs to be here, needs to know who's alive and who's dead. Instead of wasting breath that she doesn't have in a half hearted argument that she knows is pointless though, she nods her head.

She doesn't say anything to the Dragon Queen, doesn't even look her way, Arya leans up on tiptoes and brings Jon's form down to crush it to hers, his arms wrap like a vice around her, she doesn't want to let go, but she has to so she pulls away. She stares at Jon's scarred and ashed face for a while longer before she turns away. She walks the small distance to Bran's wheelchair and bends down to hug him as well, he gives her a look she doesn't understand but with company present she can't very well ask without outing herself, so instead she turns on her heel and marches away from them. 

It's a while before she's able to get through the debris and the people who seem lost with no direction or order. The bodies of the dead litter every inch of surface and Arya's short legs struggle to maneuver around them. She's walking as fast as she can, sidestepping the objects that get in her way, pieces of buildings, dead people, and live people alike.

It feels like years before she reaches the room Sansa assigned to her when she arrived at Winterfell. When Sansa brought her here that first time Arya was determined to not stay in the room, saying she was fine with a cot in any small space that was open, telling her sister someone else can have the large room with the big bed that has far to many furs on it.

Her sister's argument was that Arya is a Lady of Winterfell, a Stark, and in so being that she will have a room to herself and will not argue about it. She was unhappy with that at the time, not liking how she was dubbed “a lady” once more, a title she took no pride in. Now she's grateful and if she remembers she'll be sure to thank Sansa on the morrow for pushing the room on her.

Truthfully Arya is surprised to see it still standing, so much was destroyed of her home. On the walk here all she could see was fire burning everything that she ever held dear, her home, her people, her childhood, her father's home, the home she fought so hard to get back to. She was glad to see her room managed to go untouched, she doesn't know what she would be doing had it been burned along with everything else.

No sooner does the door close behind her is Arya stripping out of her leather jacket and pants that resemble the ones her father use to wear. She's trembling, her steps are rocky and uneven as she makes her way to light a fire. So much was blazing outside that it would seem unneeded but the air was thin and her shivers were getting worse. Once the fire starts going and the warmth from it starts spreading to the room, she walks to her bed, next to it is a basin of water with a clean rag the handmaids Sansa assigned to her brought in early that morning that she didn't use.

She expects the water to feel cold on her skin but it's not, her skin is frost, she tries to make quick work of rubbing the rag over the blood and dirt that cake her. Half her arm is purple, the veins around the spot The Night King touched are black, like an infection, it's spreading. It's impossible to wipe off all the grime that's on her, there's to much and the rag is dirty, it's just pushing the dirt along instead of removing it so she drops the rag into the water and gets in the bed.

The furs are soft against her skin, Arya bunches them up around her and buries her face into them. The last thought she has before she falls asleep is that she hopes if something was wrong Bran wouldn't keep that information to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment 😄


	2. Dead Man Walking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy 🙂

In some part of Arya's mind she comes to the conclusion that she's dreaming, she has to be. There's no possible way that she can't be dreaming. It's a most unusual dream though, everything is vivid and concrete, not fuzzy with a pinch of foggy edges that normally comes with her dreams. She can smell the packed bodies of to many people on the benches and the dirt that the horses kick up, she can feel the hard press of the bench underneath her, she hears with perfect pitch the excited and enthusiastic cheers that come from the people as a man knocks his opponent off the horse in the tourney that she's attending.

It's a familiar scene, she's been to a tourney before with Sansa and her father, sat in benches just like the one she sits in now, watched as men rode on their horses on opposite sides of a line and tried to knock one another down. The memory of it stings just like all her memories do. She thinks for a moment that she's dreaming of that memory, dreaming of being with her father again, of a happier time before the Lannisters tore her family apart.

But that goes away when she eagerly turns to look for her father who should be next to her, he's not. There is someone next to her, two people next to her actually but their not Sansa or her father, at least she doesn't think so until the man on her right talks to the man on her left.

“You think Brandon has some hope of winning?” The man leans over and smiles wide at his friend, he's young and cheerful, Arya hasn't seen happiness like that in a while, it's refreshing. His words catch up to her, Brandon? Turning her head to look at the other man, Arya's entire body goes still. She knows this face, she's dreamed of this face, she's wished every second of everyday to see this face again, even if it's just for one split moment. It's her father, a much younger version of him but her father nonetheless. He's so little and carefree in his smiles, so young and unburdened, the lines and frown that she's come to associate with his face are not present in this younger version.

She realizes to late that she's crying, the man on her other side is gently rubbing her arm and throwing her father concerning looks. She's not letting out loud heart wrenching sobs, not like Sansa who cries so everyone in The North and South can hear her weeping, no Arya's tears are silent and heavy as they make their way down her heated cheeks. She hadn't realized the emotional weight that would come from seeing him again. She assumed it would be a burst of happiness, a smile so big that it hurt her face.

“Are you alight Lyanna? What's wrong?” Lyanna? That's not her name. She acts on impulse when she throws her thin arms around her father and squeezes him to her, crying into his neck, he's hugging her back out of instinct rather then understanding, she knows he's confused, she can feel it with the unsure movements of his hand rubbing her back. He still smells the same, earthy and musky, he still feels the same, safe and like home.

“I've missed you, I've missed you so much,” she almost calls him father but stops herself before she does. It's a cruel dream she found herself in but a wish come true even if it's not exactly what she expected all those times she's made the wish to see him again, to get a chance to say goodbye.

“How can you miss me little sister, I haven't gone anywhere,” he laughs at her and Arya lets out a watery chuckle that's lost within another sob at the sound of his laugh. It's been so long since she's heard any members of her families laughter, she misses his and Jon's the most. He doesn't understand why she crying and murmuring incoherent words into his neck but that's okay, he's here and she's not alone in her fight for the time being.

“I'm so sorry, I tried to stop-I tried to go to you but Yoren didn't let me, I didn't want to leave you,” she feels his hand falter in it's motion before continuing on. This younger version of her father knows nothing of what she's apologizing for, it makes Arya upset that she can't properly express the regrets she feels for that day. She wanted to go to her father, wanted to rescue him, protect him from Joffrey's cruelty but she didn't make it one step to him before a Night's Watch Brother grabbed her. She didn't want to leave his body like that, disrespectfully in the company of his murderers but she had no choice but to leave, the Lannisters already had Sansa, they couldn't have her too, so she listened to reason and left.

It takes a moment but her tears finally calm down and she's able to pull herself together and away from her father's arms. She's mildly embarrassed of her outburst especially when she looks around and notices all the curious eyes on her. She sees her father wanted to question everything she just said but thankfully something on her face convinces him not to because he nods in mock understanding and throws the other man an ugly look which says not to question it either.

“Lyanna?” The other man says the wrong name again, Arya is going to correct him but just as she opens her mouth to do just that, the breastplate of the man who defeated the other player in the tourney catches her eye. From what she can see all the other players have silver armor, but this man has black armor and on it is a red three-headed dragon furiously snarling and spitting fire to the sky. She watches as the man takes off his helmet, under it is long silver blonde hair, almost white, pulled back into a low bun. It's another familiar face, one though that she's not as acquainted with but knows fairly well, the version of it that she knows is female and has Arya's brother trailing after her like a love sick fool. He's almost an exact replica of his sister, a tall and muscled male version of a woman Arya doesn't care to much for. The sigil on his armor is familiar as well, she's seen it hundreds of times since Daenerys came to The North to help defeat The Night King and the White Walkers. Like Daenerys the man is very beautiful, a type of beauty that belongs in songs and poems.

Arya's never encountered a man that has this type of beauty, she's not like Sansa who thinks any pretty man is a man carved from songs. She's use to gruff handsomeness, a wild fierceness that speaks levels of attractiveness, hard edges and sharp lines, but nothing like this, he's even more beautiful then Jon.

He's not only a very pretty man, he's also a man that's been dead for many years. How does one dream up someone they've never met before? How does one contour the mind to produce a dream made up of a piece of history that should be long forgotten? She ponders how everything is so vivid, she's only ever heard stories of this tourney, the people, the horses, the benches, everything here shouldn't be as in clear detail as it is.

Arya knows she's staring and she knows she should look away but she doesn't. This man is Rhaegar Targaryen, she has no doubt about it, it's strange for her to be watching someone whose ultimately responsible for what happens to her family. It's unnatural to gaze at his perfect face knowing what follows his actions, what price her family pays for them.

He must feel her eyes on him because he's now watching her just as intensely as she watches him. He doesn't move from his position on the horse, he doesn't smile, he doesn't do anything, just stares at her like she's staring at him.

“Lyanna?” Her arm is jostled, with some effort she turns away from the Prince, the other person next to her is only vaguely recognizable now that she gets a better look at his features. She's only met her uncle Benjen a few times before, and in those times she's never paid enough attention to his form that she would be able to set him apart in a crowd, but some part of her knows this is her uncle Benjen, like her father he's in his prime and in a world that's young and content, at least for now.

“Lyanna?” She repeats the name back to him, he keeps calling her that, she doesn't like it. Arya has been subjected to the ghost of Lyanna Stark for as long as she can remember. Everyone who remembers what she looked like takes great pleasure in telling Arya she's the spitting image of Lyanna, her father most of all. When she was young and foolish she thought it was a gift from the gods to be blessed to look like her but as she got older she came to realize that it was no fun being compared to someone with such a tragic ending. The people that looked at Arya and saw her aunt half expected her to have a similar ending, the pity and wariness in their eyes told her as much.

“I think the pretty Prince has made our sister a little slow in the head today,” her father jokingly says to her uncle Benjen, Arya had hoped the staring the Prince and her exchanged had went unnoticed, obviously it hadn't.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me, it must be the heat,” her excuse is flimsy at best but it's all she gots so she's going to run with it, in any case she's not lying, the sun is blaring down on them with scorching heat that's making Arya's skin sticky. Her father and uncle Benjen look at her with eyebrows raised, clearly her excuse is as poor as she thought it to be but they don't question it, they both just nod and turn to watch the rest of tourney.

Arya wants to wake up now, she doesn't like this dream, the only good thing about it is that she got to see her father but it's getting uncomfortably more real the longer time passes and she's ready to leave.

A glint of sparkling metal grabs her attention, the people in front of them have loose shiny armor sitting on the bench next to them, when she catches a glimpse of her reflection on the surface her breath hitches. Leaning forward to better right herself in the armor, Arya stares at her reflection. It's her but it's not at the same time, she has the same dark waves of hair, the same silver eyes, the same pale skin, the same long face, the same thin lips and tiny nose. The woman in the armor looks so much like Arya but there's key differences that she can see that set them apart, to any body else it wouldn't make a difference but to Arya it's the distinction of her own face from her aunt Lyanna's. This face has more plumper lips then Arya does, still thin but not as much as her own and a beauty mark next to her left eye, as well as more round eyes that are almost to big for her face and thinner eyebrows compared to her own thick ones. It's very similar to her own face, it's disconcerting to see it with her own eyes, people have told her she looks like her aunt for years now but this is beyond just looking like someone, this is practically being that person.

The shouts from her father and uncle Benjen pull Arya away from staring at herself. She's getting a few odd looks from the people surrounding them but she ignores those looks. Her crying and now looking at herself must have these people thinking she's going mad, she's starting to question that about herself as well.

Her heart is beating wildly in her chest and breathing is getting harder to execute, something in Arya is telling her this isn't a dream, an instinct, a gut feeling. 

“Better luck next time brother,” her father teases to a man with Stark coloring that walks up to them after having lost the joust to the Prince. He's another person that she's only heard stories of, another person she has no hope of knowing what they look like but somehow here he is, her uncle Brandon. He looks like her father, like a true Stark, wild and untamed. The brothers laugh together, a part of Arya is happy that she got to see this moment before things took a turn for the worse, glad she's apart of this bubble of happiness that's bright and without pain. She wants to know what the real Lyanna's actions and thoughts to this moment were. Did she appreciate this bubble as much as Arya? Did she realize how lucky she was to have this? How fast it could be taken away from her? 

“Prince Rhaegar will now crown his Queen of Love and Beauty,” well Arya was distracted thinking about her aunt the Prince won the tourney. He's standing on the ground in front of his horse holding a beautiful crown made of the finest winter roses. He's holding it tightly and glancing around the crowd, a woman who Arya guesses is his wife, Princess Elia, leans forward from her seat up in a stand that sets apart the Royal family from everyone else.

It's tradition for the winner of the tourney to name a Queen of Love and Beauty, a woman that the man publicly dedicates his victory to. It's disrespectful and scandalous if the man chooses to gift the roses to someone not his betrothal or wife, if he has one.

People are expecting him to give Princess Elia the crown, she's his wife after all, the mother of his children, only a fool would name some other woman the Queen of Love and Beauty. But Arya knows this story all to well, so unlike everyone else who is shocked to see the Prince turn away from his wife and walk towards her, Arya isn't surprised.

Her father and uncles shift in their places next to her, the closer the Prince gets the more anxious they get, throwing her looks of disbelief and concern. Arya doesn't take her focus off Prince Rhaegar though, this one insignificant moment changes history and it's astonishing to be a part of that, the focus of that change.

He stops in front of her, she looks up from her place still on the bench, he's towering over her, his frame is much larger now that he's closer and hovering. The crowd is silent, wide eyes and open mouths are staring at her, some she unhappily notes with accusation in them, as if she's at fault for the Prince having no sense. Her father and uncles are huffing next to her, anger splits their faces but they keep silent, knowing they can't very well oppose him so openly.

His face is much more gorgeous up close then it was far away, she's ashamed of the immediate pulse her lower region gives in response to his beauty. She can also now tell the differences between him and his sister, Daenerys. It's not an astounding difference between them but enough that Arya is not feeling like she's looking at the Dragon Queen. She refuses to look away from his violet eyes, she wants to watch this moment, feel it in her bones, this moment is legend and she's here experiencing it first hand, she can't look away and miss a second of it.

The corners of his lips tilt up, Arya doesn't like that his eyes are teasing, like he knows the reaction her body is having towards him. She chooses to frown back at him, her body may be betraying her right now but her mind isn't. Those pretty blue roses he has clutched in his hands that he plans on putting on her head are a death sentence. She tries to convey her disapproval through a scowl, like her father and uncles she can't out right say anything but she will make sure her message is received loud and clear without uttering a single word.

He ignores her look with tilt of his head, his eyes shine with interest and lust. He slowly reaches his hands up, and places the crown on her head, adjusting it to fit her temples to hold in place. Her eyes track his now free hands, he cups her cheeks in his overly warm palms.

“Beautiful,” he says with a smile and a squeeze to her cheeks. He steps back from her, throwing an unreadable look to her father and uncles before he turns around and leaves the tourney all together.

Arya is left sitting there in silence, not entirely sure how to respond, she feels everyone's eyes on her, the pricks in her skin that alert her to this are annoying, she feels Princess Elia's gaze the most, a searing prickle that irritates the skin and signals the hairs on her arms to stand up. Her father gets up with her uncles and together they all three lead her away from the tourney, away from prying eyes and whispers.

She reaches up when she's out of sight and snatches the crown from her head, she stares at it with disdain, such a stupid object not worth the repercussions that follow it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya is a little dense to the clues that signal she’s not dreaming and she’s not herself lol 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment 😁


	3. A Pretty Wolf Locked Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy 😁

She doesn't have much say when her father and uncles put her in Lyanna's room and leave to deal with the gossip that was spreading after the incident at the tourney. Normally Arya would fight tooth and nail to not be treated like a delicate doll that needs to be hidden and protected from harsh words, a part of her does feel like she should mind that they've left her to deal with business that concerns her but she doesn't. Because this isn't her, this isn't her body, her story, it's her aunt Lyanna's, and Arya wants no part in it. She has her own story to get back to, Arya wants to go home, she misses it, as destroyed as it is right now it doesn't matter because it's hers. She hasn't been away from her family that long, a mere few hours if she's calculating correctly, but already she misses them, she has spent years away, separated from them, having just got them back she doesn't want to ever go through that separation again. She should be with Jon, Sansa, and Bran right now, rebuilding Winterfell and planning their attack on Cersei, she should be with her family, healing their wounds and reinforcing their bonds as siblings, becoming a pack once more. 

She shouldn't be here, how she's here to begin with is a mystery. Arya knows it has something to do with the Night King's touch, it's no coincidence that she gets transported into the past not long after his cold touch was placed on her, but how that was possible is something she couldn't fathom an answer to. She's seen strange, magnificent things in her time running and training but this is a whole other realm of extraordinary.

The room they placed Arya in is huge, like the one she fell asleep in mere hours ago, this one is lighter though, not just in terms of actual lighting either. In Winterfell the grey clouds that stain the skies don't always allow the sunshine to come through but here in King's Landing, the sun is always up in the sky shining beautiful yellow rays on everything it touches. The atmosphere feels lighter here to, less foreboding, the fear and dread that cake the walls of Winterfell aren't here in this sunny castle. It's something Arya didn't think she would miss but she does, that suffocating ambiance was a motivator and a comfort, familiar like a friend.

She sits on the bed, facing the windows of the room, they're closed but she can see the sun rays through the edges and she finds herself stuck staring at them. The windows are a barrier to the warmth the sun can provide her, she's almost tempted to open them but she misses the cold, longs for it so she doesn't. From behind her the door to the room opens and closes, Arya doesn't turn around, she doesn't need to, she knows exactly whose behind her.

They don't say anything but she can hear their steps get closer as they walk towards her, she feels the dip in the bed from the other side of where she sits. She holds her breath as the bed is gently rocked from where they climb onto it and make their way to her, pressing themselves against her spine.

“You shouldn't be here,” Arya tells him in a flat voice. She doesn't want to admit to herself that his heat feels wonderful against the thin material of the dress she wears. She misses the frost Winterfell offers but this heat, a different kind of warmness then the sun offers has her mind fogging. Arya's not entirely sure why he's in her room, but she assumes like many royal people who get what they want when they want it with little to no questions asked that he feels he's entitled to her, to Lyanna, after having given her the crown of winter roses. 

He doesn't answer her, instead he snakes his arms around her thin frame and pulls her back to lean more firmly against his chest, his breath is on her neck, she feels light kisses trail on her pulse. She hates the shiver that rakes through her body, she hates that she likes those chaste kisses. She needs to pull herself away, it's not right, he has no claim to this body, be it her's or her aunt's, but lust clouds her vision and makes it impossible to see.

He feels different from Gendry, whose the only other man she has any experience with, any comparison to. His body is warmer then her friend's, harder and softer at the same time. Gendry, someone she feels like she should miss but she doesn't really. At least not in the way she misses Winterfell's walls and her siblings, not the way she thinks she should miss a man she's been intimate with. He wants things from Arya that she can't give to him, doesn't want to give to him. She slept with him for selfish desires, she didn't think she would live past The Long Night, she didn't want to die knowing she's never known the touch of a man. But that moment meant more to Gendry then it did to her, she could feel it in the thrust of his hips and the press of his chapped lips. She does feel a shred of guilt for not being able to recuperate his feelings for her but not enough of it that she's willing to try being what he wants her to be.

Prince Rhaegar doesn't feel like a desperate attempt at having something that she might not live long enough to experience in her own time, he feels like forbidden fruit, he feels like sin, she can't lie to herself and say she doesn't like it. Arya's always liked being apart of things that she has no business being apart of.

Catching sight of the crown of winter roses she placed on the dresser coming into the room is what gives Arya the pull she needs to extract herself from his hold. She doesn't want to pull away from him, not at all, she likes the way he feels but the shame and embarrassment of how she's responding to him is heavy in her heart. Arya wants to blame The Night King's touch for her behavior, blame him for the way her body is reacting to the Prince but she can't, she can blame him for putting her in the situation, for placing her in the past but she can't blame him for her lust.

She stands from the bed, turns her attention to the silver-haired beauty still sitting perfectly still behind her and aims her best glare at him, a glare that has driven many to their knees before her.

“You need to leave,” she tells him with the most hostile voice she can muster. Arya doesn't understand why she's not reacting to his actions the way she should be, why it's hurting her to do the right thing. This man is responsible for all the pain and torture that happens to her family, he's the one that lights the fire that burns her family for many years to come, burns her and Jon, separates her and Jon. This man also has a wife, children with that wife, he has a family that would be hurt by his actions as well as her actions. So why even knowing all that does she want to crawl back on the bed with him? She's doesn't know him, has barley spoken a handful of words to him, he's only spoke one to her, and yet she yearns to have herself pressed against him again.

“You didn't like my gift?” His voice is deeper then Arya expected it to be, earlier when he had called her beautiful, it was barley more then a murmur, something that disappeared into the wind, but now his voice is for her ears alone. It's a nice voice, he sounds like Jon, husky and honeyed all at once.

“Your gift was inappropriate,” she answers back, and it was, he should never have given that crown to her, technically it was to her aunt Lyanna but the sentiment still stands, it was not an appropriate gift to bestow upon a woman that wasn't his wife, a woman who is betrothed to another. Those pretty roses weren't worth the implication that followed them.

“Was it?” He asks with teasing lines in his eyes and on his mouth. It angers Arya that he doesn't comprehend his own actions, or he does but he doesn't care. Actions such as these are looked over when it comes to Royalty, they don't pay the price, no one dares to speak ill of them in front of them, but for normal noble girls like herself and Lyanna, they don't get that luxury. 

“It's not something you should jest of. I believe it's time you left my room Your Highness, your wife must be looking for you,” she doesn't know what else to say to him, she needs him to leave before her body takes what it wants.

“I highly doubt that,” he doesn't elaborate on his statement, but he does get up from the bed, instead of walking towards the door like she wants him to though he walks towards her. He stops right in front of her, her aunt Lyanna is taller then she is but not by much so it's still a significant height difference between them.

“My father will be back soon and believe me you don't want to be caught in here when he comes back,” Arya's not actually sure where her father or her uncles are but she does know they will check on her before it gets later, before she's set to go to sleep. Prince Rhaegar being seen in her room is not going to do her any favors, he needs to leave.

“Your father?” He repeats back to her with a confused tone. Arya forgot for a moment that her father is not actually her father here, but her brother, the man who is her father, Rickard, is at home in Winterfell waiting for his children to return from their trip to King's Landing.

“You need to leave,” Arya ignores his question, she made a mistake, talked like she wasn't her aunt Lyanna but right now she doesn't have the energy to form a proper excuse or explanation for the Prince. He looks like he wants to ask more questions, the confusion still present on his face but Arya's relieved that he doesn't.

“Of course,” he leans his body down and forward and before Arya can move out of the way he kisses her, it's gentle and sweet, much like the ones he pressed to her neck on the bed. He doesn't try for more then a single kiss like she thought he might, Arya's slightly disappointed in that, but when he pulls away she doesn't chase after his lips or tries to stop him. He's walking away and is out the room without another word, the space around her feels empty without him there. It's ridiculous for her to feel that way and she knows it, but it doesn't stop the emotion from swelling up and over her.

It's not long after the Prince leaves her room that her father and uncles come back to check on her. Arya is back in her place on the bed, staring at the window, the sun rays are long gone. Like with Prince Rhaegar she doesn't need to turn to face the people who come into the room without knocking, she already knows it's them. 

“Are you alright, little sister?” Her father is the first one to approach her, Arya finds it ironic that he calls Lyanna what Jon calls her, like father like son. It's wrong though hearing it come from her father's mouth and not Jon's, Arya's not his little sister, she's his daughter and a part of her wants to scream that to him but it will do her no good, more likely all it would do is get her committed to seeing a Maester.

“I'm fine, just tired,” she lies to him, she's not fine, she won't be fine until she's able to see Jon, Sansa, and Bran again, until this nightmare is no longer her reality. 

“Get some rest Lyanna, you'll need it, preparations to leave in three days time are being made,” her uncle Brandon is the one to tell her, he has worry in his eyes. Her father never told her much about the brother that HER brother is named after, she's never asked either, she regrets that now, he clearly loves his siblings very much and soon he will die trying to protect Lyanna, his fate like all theirs is cruel and undeserved.

“Has anyone said anything?” She's hesitant to ask, the last thing she needs is for her father and uncles to think she's invested in something she shouldn't be in.

“No,” her uncle Brandon says to her, he's lying, The House of Black and White taught her a great many things and this was one of them, she can spot a lie with ease and right now her uncle is lying to her, her father and uncle Benjen don't contradict his words. It's impossible that no one in all the kingdom has spread gossip about what happened at the tourney, the whole reason they left her in this room was to scope out what was being said and by who as to reign it in before it becomes fact rather then opinion despite lack of evidence in either case. 

“Okay,” Arya can't help herself from throwing him a look that clearly states she knows he's lying but she keeps her mouth closed, it's enough for her to know that he knows she knows he's lying, a slight tick to his hard expression lets her know that he received her silent message. 

“Good night sister,” the three of them chime in together after a moment of silence before leaving the room together, her father glancing back right before the door shuts to throw her a small smile of reassurance. That small curve to his lips says that everything will be fine and will work itself out in the end, but this story doesn't have a happy ending like in the fairy tales Old Nan use to read to her and her siblings, not for Arya and certainly not for her aunt Lyanna. 

“Good night,” Arya whispers to the empty room.

Without waiting another moment, she pulls the furs from the bed over herself and sinks down. She pulls her arm free from the confines of her night dress, the arm The Night King touched. It hasn't occurred to her to look at it since waking up in this horrible piece of history.

She expects for her arm to show some semblance of his touch, but there's nothing there. No purple skin or black veins, no red splotches or cold skin, nothing. There's no evidence of his touch still on her, she's not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but she supposes it doesn't matter much now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment 🙂


	4. Dream A Little Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone 😊
> 
> It's been over 8 months since this story was last update, truthfully I had trouble deciding how I wanted this story to go, I had a clear plan when I first started writing it but that plan has since been revised a million times. After writing and rewriting throw away chapters for this story that obviously weren't posted, I think I somewhat know now how I want to take this story but be advised that it could still change in the future lmfao it's really just a vague concept I have right now. Also I erased some of the tags and some of the notes from chapter 1, the things I erased just didn't fit with this new direction I'm taking the story in, so they had to go lol 😂 the most notable one is the OOC tag for Arya, I thought she was going to be a little OOC but after writing a bit more and reviewing said writing, I don't believe she can be classified as OOC in my story. As some of you probably noticed as well, I am terrible at summaries so I changed the summary too, it still gives the general gist of the story and there were no major changes where it sounds like a different story but I feel like I still had to mention that to readers. Also I added a photo collage for this story into the first chapter. Now without further ado....
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy 😁

_Darkness greeted Arya, pitch black surrounded her, she couldn't see anything. She felt incorporeal, like she wasn't there, her body was just an illusion in this nightmare. That's what this was, just a dream made up of loneliness and empty space, and she was right in the middle of it. Touching her face with her hand Arya felt cold skin beneath her fingertips, she could feel the pressure to her face, but it was muted, more of sensation than anything else, an illusion to._

_The darkness wasn't quiet like one might expect it to be, it was loud with rowdy noise. Several voices overlapped each other, talking all at once, she couldn't understand them or distinguish them. But the harder Arya paid attention to the individual words being spoken instead of the stream of noise they provided, the more she could separate the voices and understand what they were saying._

"_She told me she was fine Bran; you knew she was lying!" The loudest of the voices boomed, it was furious and biting._

"_Jon!" A sugary soft voice exclaimed, their disappointed in the other voice, "We just don't understand why you didn't say anything Bran, why you let Arya pretend nothing was wrong." The voice lowered, not up for confrontation._

"_It wouldn't have made a difference; Arya is where she is meant to be." The third voice was drawn out, exasperated, they've explained already, they were tired of talking._

_The voices belonged to her siblings, Arya examined around her, hoping to see a pinch of light, anything that would help her escape the darkness that was suffocating her; hearing her siblings and not being able to see them or touch them was a cruel realization._

"_Where is that exactly?" This voice was rougher than her sister's but no less sweet, the Dragon Queen, her voice was tinted curiously._

"_I can't say, but she is fine." The irritation her brother spoke with was lessened with his reassurance of her well being._

"_She looks dead! How can you tell me she is fine!" Jon had a hitch in his voice that spoke of the turmoil he felt inside, he was scared, he was hopeless in the situation and he didn't know what to do with that._

"_Jon!" Sansa sounded as if she's been apprehending him for hours, trying to reign in the anger and the hurt their older brother felt with no success, "Stop yelling at him." Her sister demanded._

"_Jon I'm sorry, I know you want answers, but I can't give them to you, not yet at least. So please just trust me when I say our sister is where she is meant to be and that she is fine, trust me to not put her in any more danger, trust me to do what is best for our family, for our pack." There was no answer from Jon to Bran's words, distantly Arya could hear Bran's wheelchair moving away, the sounds of the wheels left squeaks in their wake._

"_How do you expect me to trust you when you speak in riddles Bran, how do I trust you when you're the one who knows what's happening to our sister right now and you're refusing to share that information." Jon tells him before the sounds of Bran's wheelchair completely faded away, he left them._

_Arya didn't like the silence that followed Bran's departure._

"_Bran loves Arya Jon, you might think your the only one who cares for her but your wrong, she's our sister as well, Bran would never do something that he didn't think was right." Sansa said her peace, when no reply came from Jon she sighed and left whatever room they were in, Arya wanted nothing more then to be able to see them with her own eyes._

"_I'm sorry Jon," the Dragon Queen tells her brother, she is someone Arya is glad she can't see, there is fake concern pouring from her mouth "There is nothing to be done about your sister though, all you can do now is wait, but there is still a war going on and we must focus our attention on Cersei." Arya scoffed at the direction the Dragon Queen took the conversation._

"_My sister is lying frozen, blue in the face, possibly in pain and dying, and your telling me to focus my attention to Queen Cersei?" The livid disbelief rang loud in the darkness._

"_I'm okay Jon!" Arya yelled to the void, hoping in some small way Jon would be able to hear her, Arya's heart was breaking from the tremors in his voice._

"_Jon! I'm okay!" She yelled louder, her voice echoed back to her, repeating that she was okay._

"_He can't hear you," someone said from behind Arya, she whipped around and was surprised that she could see color, the shadows that overtook the room before were slowly fading away into the deep corners of the void that seemed never ending, with them they took the voices of her brother and the Dragon Queen._

_Arya didn't answer back right away, she was never surer that this was a nightmare, there in front of her stood what first appeared to be herself but a step closer revealed to actually be her aunt Lyanna. They were dressed the same in creamed colored tunics with brown leather jackets over them, along with brown leather britches and black boots. Their hair was wild and curly around their faces, big silver eyes scanning one another, taking in the little differences but mostly coming to terms with the wide similarity._

"_Hello Arya," Lyanna smiled, untroubled with Arya's presence, the exact opposite of Arya who couldn't wrap her head around who she was seeing._

"_Ly-Lyanna?" She spluttered, she took another step closer, one Lyanna mirrored._

"_It's wonderful to finally meet you," Lyanna went on unconcerned with the lines in her nieces face that were deepening with every word spoken, "Officially that is." She playfully winked._

"_What is this?" Arya sneered, she glanced around the room once more, instead of the darkness, she and Lyanna were in a small room, gloom seemed to stain the air around them, the grey floorboards to the room were unsteady and broken, the only object was a bed with furs on it. Arya's never seen this room before in her life, she doesn't like it here, the walls wallow with grief._

_Grief, something she's familiar with but no less accustomed to, she's lost so many people in her young life and this room feels like another loss, it's something Arya doesn't understand._

"_Where am I?! Why couldn't Jon hear me?! Why are you here?!" Arya fired off her questions, she was done with the ghost of Lyanna Stark, it seems like a step to far to be haunted by her after Arya's already been compared to her and thrusted into her body. What did Lyanna want from her? They didn't even live in the same time, they never even met._

"_You are sleeping, Jon couldn't hear you because we are in your dreams," Lyanna calmly explained, she had a gentle smile for Arya, a motherly smile, it was unsettling to see such a thing on a replica of her face, "This room is a memory of mine, something I need to show you so you can understand."_

"_Then why could I hear him? I didn't fall asleep in Winterfell," Arya said to Lyanna who was walking around the room, touching the walls, pain reflected in her eyes._

"_Your body is still in Winterfell, you are lying in bed, frozen for the time being. In sleep your soul tried to connect to your body, the result was what you just experienced." It's a testament of all that Arya has been through that Lyanna's explanation made sense._

"_Understand? Understand what?" Arya wasn't ready to think about what her siblings were thinking and feeling, seeing her lying unmoving in her bed, looking like death so she brought the conversation back to Lyanna's statement that she needed to understand._

"_Why the old gods sent you to the past." Lyanna stated, she stopped in front of the dirty bed, Arya watched with cautious eyes as her aunt touched the fabric of the furs with delicate movements._

"_It wasn't the Night King?" Arya questioned, confusion overtook her face, she was positive it was because of him that she was in her aunt's body, experiencing things from her perspective in a time long before her own._

"_Through his own doing with his own ill intentions, no, but he was a player that allowed the old gods to have what they needed to be able to intervene, it was help from his abilities that gave them the strength to send you where you needed to go, it was lucky that he touched your bare skin, had he not then we would not be having this discussion." Lyanna had moved from the bed to step in front of Arya._

"_Where I needed to go? You speak in riddles, tell me plainly what is happening." Arya ordered from her aunt, her eyes sparkled with interest, not fully prepared to have Arya ordering things from her, Lyanna's niece reminded her a lot of herself, she was just as forward._

"_I made a lot of mistakes, ones I dearly regret now, mistakes that had repercussions far beyond what I could have ever imagined at the time," Lyanna teared up in confession, memories better left buried swirled her mind, "I never meant for anyone to get hurt, I never wanted for my family to pay for my mistakes, to die for them." The tears were silent as they made their way down Lyanna's cheeks._

"_Okay," Arya replied uncertainly, uncomfortable with her aunt Lyanna's crying, "What does that have to do with me?" It was understandable that her aunt had regrets, everyone does, Arya for all the torment and agony she suffered through didn't blame Lyanna for being a young girl who got kidnapped and raped by a handsome conniving Prince who believed he had some right to her, as if she were a possession, a material object. She couldn't have possibly fathomed that Prince Rhaegar's actions would have led to the near extinction of the Stark family, though none of that was her aunt's fault._

_But none of that had to do with Arya, so it made no sense why her aunt was telling her this, she wasn't a confessional._

"_It has everything to do with you Arya," Lyanna wiped her tears away with the sleeve of the jacket she wore, the leather scratched her smooth skin leaving behind redness, "Watch." Lyanna pointed to the bed, where three figures materialized from no where. A woman laid on the bed sweaty and bleeding, her legs up and spread, furs covering her private area so the man that kneeled next to her couldn't see. He was patting the woman's forehead with a piece of cloth, choking out encouraging words. The last person was a handmaid, she kneeled at the woman's legs, keeping them apart with her hands, occasionally looking to the woman to update her on the process._

_Arya didn't know what to say when she recognized the woman as her Aunt Lyanna and the man as her father. Lyanna was visibly pregnant and in active labor, it was a difficult labor, the pushes she was attempting were leaving her breathless, with each new push a gush of blood would accompany it. Arya watched in bewilderment, she doesn't have a cousin, her father would have mentioned a cousin, she would have grown up with them, what was happening?_

_Finally, the piercing cries of a newborn baby taking it's first breath in the real world filled the room, a collective breath of relief was let out by all the occupants, Arya included. It was a squirmish thing, kicking and flaying it's tiny arms and legs everywhere it could, still purple with fluid all over it. The handmaid did her best to clean the little thing before hurriedly handing him over to Lyanna, who was growing deathly pale in the aftermath of her giving birth._

"_It's a boy, a strong healthy baby boy." The handmaid told her, she patted Lyanna's knee before looking to Arya's father and shaking her head with sympathy, Lyanna would not live for much longer, the handmaid left the room with remorse in her bones._

_Lyanna hugged her baby to her chest, content to look at his beautiful full head of dark brown hair, almost black and his rose puffed cheeks. He was perfect. Her chest hurt from the raw breaths she was taking, it was to many, her body was tired, she wanted to sleep but she knew if she close her eyes that would be the last time she saw her son._

"_If Robert finds out, he'll kill him, you know he will," Lyanna used what little energy she had to hand her brother her baby, she gripped his hand in hers and forced him to look her in the eyes, "You have to protect him, promise me Ned. Promise me." She begged, the Lyanna next to Arya mouthed the words as well, her eyes transfixed on the scene of her death._

"_I promise Lyanna, I'll protect him." Her father swore, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to Lyanna's forehead, wiping her hair from where it stuck to her skin and tugged the strands behind her ears, Lyanna nodded, smiled one last time at her son before she closed her eyes and took her last breath._

"_You died in childbirth." Arya said out loud, she was never told how Lyanna passed, never cared enough to ask, she had just assumed it was complications in her kidnapping but no where has it ever been mentioned that she was pregnant. What happened to the baby, her cousin?_

"_Yes, I did." Lyanna stated, it was a painful death, slow and dragged out, but her son was worth it, he was everything to Lyanna and she would die a thousand more deaths if it meant he got to live._

_Arya had so many more questions, none of this made sense, this wasn't how the story went, this wasn't real, it couldn't be real. Before she could ask her most pressing questions, her father stood from his kneeling position. He was the same age as he was when she saw him in her room with his brothers telling her goodnight, hardly any significant amount of time passed, but the hard lines and frowns of stress that were apart of the father she knew in the future that were absent in the past are now there. He was carefully cradling the baby, shushing his crying, rocking him well humming under his breath._

"_Your going to be just fine, Jon." He whispered into the babies ear, almost to low for Arya to hear._

_Jon...Jon...Jon...Jon...Jon...Jon..Jon, her brother's name echoed loudly as the scene faded into the void as the darkness did, her father and baby Jon with it, leaving herself and her aunt Lyanna in an empty room with no clear distinctions to give to clues to where she was._

"_Jon is my cousin?" Arya surprised herself, she didn't yell, she didn't demand, the news was shocking to say the least and had Arya not witnessed it firsthand she would have never believed it. Her older brother, her favorite brother, was her cousin. Her father never cheated on her mother, he didn't bring home a bastard baby, he brought home his nephew and claimed him as his own because that was the only way to protect him. Arya had to begrudgingly admit to herself that it made sense, as honorable as her father was, everyone really should have known he would never step out on her mother and bring home the consequence of that indiscretion._

"_I loved Rhaegar, time has twisted my story with him, he never kidnapped me nor did he ever rape me. I went with him of my own free will, I wanted a life with him, children eventually, Jon came a bit earlier then expected" Lyanna told her, "We got married in secret, he annulled his marriage to Elia, we were meant to be happy together, raising our child."_

_Shaking her head to clear it, Arya tried to process all the new information she was getting handed. None of this is how history foretold it, they said Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna, her father never contradicted the story and now Arya is learning they were in love, expecting a child, a child that was Jon. Her poor brother who grew up believing he was a bastard, a brother that got unnecessary hate from society and in his own home for the circumstances in which he was born, his entire life revolve around something that wasn't even fact._

"_I don't know what to say," and she didn't, this was to much, how was she meant to react, "but I still don't understand what it has to do with me?" For all the information Lyanna was telling her she still had yet to explain what any of it had to do with Arya, what her purpose in the whole thing was._

"_As I said Arya, I made mistakes, ones I regret with every fiber of my being, loving Rhaegar and giving birth to Jon aren't one of them but the ones that I do regret? The mistakes that you and your siblings, my brother and his wife, Rhaegar's sister and brother, and countless others payed for, those ones...well someone needs to change them, someone needs to make it right." Lyanna answered evenly, her lips pursed in a fine line._

"_And by someone...you mean me?" She pointed to herself, her mouth open in doubt. What could she possibly do that would changed all that has been done? She was but one girl, Lyanna and the old gods are mistaken._

"_Why not you?" Lyanna rhetorically asked, her niece is fearless, willful, adaptable and she believes in fairness, in righting wrongs. She has wolf blood running through her veins, Lyanna couldn't think of better person to stand against fate and tell it to go fuck itself._

"_I need to go home; I can't stay in the past. I don't belong there!" She shrieked at her aunt in determination to get her to realize that Arya doesn't belong in the past, she's meant to be with her siblings._

"_I'm sorry Arya, what is done cannot be changed, I can't send you back," The edges of Lyanna's figure started to blur, she was slowly disappearing before Arya's eyes._

"_What's happening?" She reached out for Lyanna, trying to grab hold of her hand, everything around her was melting away._

"_You're wakin-"_

Arya shot up in her bed with a gasp, she frantically searched the room for her aunt, expecting to see her figure somewhere, lurking and going in circles with her speech but there was no one else in the room. She fell back on the bed, the furs around her scrunched up and made a ball that Arya kicked with her foot, she ran hands down her face, closing her eyes. She could remember snippets of her dream, most of it gone when she shot up in bed, she tried her best to conjure up the images of her dream, but luck wasn't on her side that night. She could picture Lyanna in her brown leather and black boots that matched Arya's own but mostly she could hear voices.

"_Trust me to do what is best for our family, for our pack."_

"_Bran would never do something he didn't think was right."_

"_There is still a war going on."_

"_Why the old gods sent you to the past."_

"_I made a lot of mistakes."_

"_I loved Rhaegar, I wanted a life with him."_

"_Someone needs to make it right."_

She lets out a loud groan, turning on her stomach, she presses her face into the pillows below her. She's forgetting something, it's frustrating to know that she's not remembering her full dream. She knows she heard her siblings and the Dragon Queen talking, arguing but she couldn't recall the whole conversation. She remembers her aunt Lyanna telling her the Night King was not responsible for her adventure to the past, the Old Gods were, that they want her to fix something...everything?

Lyanna told her she made mistakes, Arya can't recall what mistakes but the thing that stuck out the most was that Lyanna told her she loved Prince Rhaegar and she wanted a life with him. You don't love someone who kidnapped and raped you.

If that dream was real, if Lyanna really did visit her from beyond the grave then that meant Rhaegar and her aunt were in love, that would mean the story of Lyanna Stark is false and Arya had no idea what to do with that information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, feel free to leave a comment ☺
> 
> For anyone curious, Arya doesn't remember that Lyanna revealed Jon to be her cousin and not her brother.


End file.
